Innocence
by ArtificialImagination
Summary: Erik is accused of killing Christine Daae, but he insists that Christine is still alive.


A/N: This is Leroux-based, so even if he technically doesn't own the rights anymore, all the credit goes to Gaston Leroux.

Most of it is pure Leroux, but there are parts of canon I either A. Changed or B. Couldn't remember and couldn't be bothered to look up. So I apologize for any glaring mistakes…at least, the ones that weren't done on purpose.

So about six months ago I created a challenge for myself using various prompts. I started this that day, continued it a month later, and just now finished. The prompt was 'Falsely accused of a crime'.

If you're someone who is reading either Isis or Shadows, don't worry – I'm still working on those, this was just a warm up to get back into writing.

…That being said, I still hope everyone enjoys it. It was fun to write!

Anyway, please review – how else am I supposed to get better?

* * *

"I'm afraid you're going to have to leave it," said the guard sternly. He tore the thick manuscript from the shaking man's hands, and threw it to his partner. The shaking man watched as the whole bundle – entitled Don Juan Triumphant – was tossed into the flames contained in the fireplace. With a strangled cry, the man attempted to fling himself into the fire after it, but was quickly restrained, then tossed into a cold cell, the door slamming shut on him.

The shaking man huddled in a corner, buried his face against the filthy floor, and then cried. He rocked himself slowly back and forth, murmuring to himself in a language the guards did not understand.

"You say your name is Valter?" demanded the larger of the six guards outside the cell.

There was no response, except from another guard that softly replied, "He told me his name was Dereke..."

"What is your name?" this voice was unfamiliar. This wasn't one of the police that had caught him as he'd gotten out of the carriage after his final visit with the Persian, nor was this one of the prison guards who had been told to 'take care' of him. The shaking man pulled himself up.

He was in a room made entirely of stone, with no light save for a small rectangular window at the very top with bars on it, and a small square hole at the top of the thick wooden door, also covered with iron bars.

The man leapt to his feet and glared out the window in the door. The owner of the unfamiliar voice was well-groomed and finely dressed, and rather handsome save for the circles under his eyes. All the guards had various cuts from vicious inmates and wouldn't be able to afford such fine clothing. He was an inspector of some sort, most likely.

"I am called by many names," the shaking man answered, though now he did not shake so much.

The Inspector pulled some papers from his jacket pocket and examined them. "According to the new Count de Changy, you are called Erik. Is this correct?"

"That is a name I have chosen to use recently, yes," answered Erik. How he wished he could reach through those bars. They didn't seem too terribly far apart!

"Also known to the management of the Opera as the Opera Ghost, yes?"

"Yes."

"You are being kept here until your trial in three weeks' time, Monsieur Opera Ghost," the Inspector said, the last with a touch of irony in his voice. "You are being tried for – among many other smaller counts – the extortion of the opera, the dropping of a chandelier which killed Madame Morel, the murder of Count de Changy and Joseph Buquet, the kidnapping and subsequent murder of Christine Daae-"

"Murder?" the Opera Ghost echoed. "Murder?"

"Yes," said the Inspector. "The murder of Count de Changy, Joseph Buquet, Madame Morel and Christine Daae-"

"No!" the Opera Ghost screamed violently, throwing himself against the door. His skeletal arm flew through the bars and caught the inspector by the throat. He gripped tightly and rammed the man into the door so his flawless face was pressed against the bars. The Opera Ghost put his own unmasked face in front of the Inspector's. The Inspector's face turned a sickly white.

"Christine was not murdered! She is not dead! She is alive, I tell you!" the Ghost insisted. "Alive!"

The Inspector attempted to speak but his air was cut off. The prison guards unlocked the door, forcing it open. The inspector was torn from the Ghost's grip, and three guards forced the crazed inmate to the ground. The inmate continued to scream.

"No! She is not dead! And no one shall touch a hair of her head! She is a good girl...a good, _living_ girl!"

"I'm afraid," the Inspector shouted above the inmate's screaming, "That you are incorrect. Christine Daae was murdered earlier this day. She was strangled to death-"

"No!"

"-By a red scarf around her neck, a scarf that was taken from her dressing table. She was killed-"

"NO!"

"-this morning by a man that matched your description. The Count-"

"Christine is not dead! She is not!"

"-Raoul de Changy came to us this morning. He'd talked to her maid who had seen the attacker and described you to-"

The shaking man – the Phantom of the Opera – stood suddenly. The three men who had been holding him down were suddenly on the ground, unsure of how they'd gotten there.

"_Listen to me_," boomed voice that seemed to come from above. The Inspector and guards looked up suddenly, almost expecting to see an angel floating above them. But the Inspector's eyes were brought back to earth as he felt a firm, icy grip around his neck again.

"Listen to me," said the Ghost. That voice was coming from the Ghost! "Christine is not dead. She is _not._ She is alive, I tell you, _alive,_ and happy with Raoul. They are going to get married – that is what was agreed." A dry cackle came from the Ghost that was almost a laugh. "So, you see, she cannot be dead."

The Inspector took a step back, and the Ghost released him. The three guards shook themselves from their daze and began to get back on their feet.

"Well," gasped the Inspector between coughs. "It seems you are madder than the Count informed us. We will have to take a little stroll, then."

The Inspector nodded to the guards, and two of them took the Ghost by each arm.

"If you can remain calm enough," said the Inspector, straightening his cravat, "I shall prove to you that Mademoiselle Daae is dead."

"She is not dead," responded the Ghost quietly as he nodded his hideous head. "You can have no such proof, so I will go with you willingly."

The Inspector nodded, and the Ghost was escorted from the cell with the guards on either side of him. They walked through the cold, dark hallways of the prison until they reached a tall wooden door with guards standing beside it. They opened the door, and as they walked out the Ghost took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air. They were outside now, among the drifting snow and the dark grey skies. A carriage waited for the Inspector, and the Ghost was assisted inside it while the driver was instructed on where to go. Once both guards and the Inspector were inside, the carriage jerked forward.

"What is your real name, Monsieur Erik?" asked the Inspector.

The Ghost's yellow gaze was on the city outside. "I do not have a name save for the ones society has given me, or the ones I choose for myself."

"What is it that was written on your birth certificate?"

The Ghost's gaze turned back on the inspector, and the Inspector turned pale again. Were the Phantom's eyes glowing in the darkness?

"What is _your_ name, Inspector?" whispered a voice in the Inspector's ear. He jumped, and the Ghost laughed.

The Inspector pursed his lips for a moment, and then answered sharply, "I am Henri Thibault."

"Monsieur Thibault," greeted the Ghost politely, "I am X."

"X?" asked the guard to the Ghost's left. He cleared his throat when everyone in the carriage turned to glare at him.

"Your name is X?" asked Monsieur Thibault.

"Yes," responded the Ghost. "My mother refused to name me, so the doctor wrote the letter 'X' on my birth certificate."

"What is your family name?"

The Ghost chuckled. "That I will not give so willingly."

"What do you prefer to be called, then?"

"Erik will do."

The carriage slowed and stopped shortly after. The group got out of the carriage, and headed toward an old brick building that wasn't very far from the prison. Erik did not recognize it, but he allowed himself to be led inside. It was nearly pitch black and more than once a guard stumbled. Too late, Inspector Thibault realized that it was a mistake to let the Opera Ghost out of his prison cell. It would be only too easy for him to escape.

They stopped at the end of the hall and entered a room to the left. Inside were three doctors that looked rather surprised to have guests.

Inspector Thibault walked up to the eldest of the doctors. "The suspect does not believe the victim to be dead."

"He is mentally unstable?" croaked the old doctor.

Thibault nodded his head. "We will keep a close watch."

"Something like this might cause a break-"

"It is necessary," insisted Thibault. He then turned to Erik, and then turned his eyes to the table in the center of the room.

Erik had been staring at this table and slowly began to shake. A figure was laid out on the table, a white sheet covering it. The outline of a slender woman could be made out, with fine breasts and a pretty profile and a little strand of blonde hair sticking out from underneath the cloth.

The Opera Ghost watched as Thibault pulled the sheet away.

There she lay, pale and as beautiful in death as she'd been in life, save for the ugly bruises that had formed about her neck before she died. Her chest was still, she did not move. Christine Daae was dead.

Erik could not remember what happened next.

* * *

The next thing Erik was aware of was the wall of his cell, and chains around his wrists. His dinner jacket had been taken from him…so he no longer had access to his lasso. Perhaps he'd already used it.

There was a clanking sound as his cell door opened. Erik did not move.

"Monsieur Erik," greeted the voice of Henri Thibault.

"Who killed her?"

"You asked that yesterday," answered the Inspector. "As you choked the life from one of the guards."

"That does not answer my question."

"Did you remember killing the guard?"

"I do not remember anything after seeing her body," replied Erik to the wall. "Now tell me…who killed her?"

"If you do not recall killing Monsieur Joubert, is it possible you do not recall murdering Christine Daae?"

"Are you married, Inspector?"

There was a pause, but then Thibault answered hesitantly, "Yes."

"Would you be capable of killing your wife, regardless of insanity?"

"Are you saying you are married to Mademoiselle Daae?"

Erik used the wall to push himself to his feet. There was a sharp pain in one of his legs, as though he'd been hit hard there with a blunt object. "No, Inspector, and I am sure Raoul told you every detail of that story so do not pretend as though you do not know."

Thibault sighed. "I would never be able to harm my wife. You, however, threatened to blow up Mademoiselle Daae."

"And myself as punishment," replied Erik, sighing as though dealing with an idiot child. "Have I injured myself?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Erik looked up to the window, and was able to glimpse stars. "I am incapable of hurting Christine," he said. "I love her. She is my world. Speak to the Persian if you do not believe me, he lives at-"

"Your Persian friend has already come forward," Thibault interrupted. "He told us some of your life story, and explained that though you are more than capable of murder, he does not believe you to be capable of killing Mademoiselle Daae."

Erik did not respond.

"And…" Thibault sighed. "I have had doubts since you insisted Mademoiselle Daae was alive. A madman who'd killed her might insist she was alive, but would not go as far as to see her corpse. Even then he might insist she was still alive…you merely demanded to know who was responsible."

"Killing a man in the process."

"Yes," agreed Thibault. "But I believe it was an accident."

Erik now turned to face the Inspector. The man's skin was no longer flawless…there were bruises around his throat, and marks from Erik's fingernails scarred his right cheek.

Erik spoke softly. "Why do you believe it was an accident?"

"Monsieur Joubert would not let you touch Mademoiselle Daae. You produced a lasso and put it around his neck and pulled. Once he was unconscious you released him, allowing him to fall to the floor. You moved towards Mademoiselle Daae's corpse – but you didn't notice the wire was tangled around your arm from the struggle. You jerked forward and broke Monsieur Joubert's neck."

"Your face?"

"I tried to pull you off of Mademoiselle Daae."

"I see," said Erik softly, and then slowly knelt to the ground. "I did not kill Christine. I love her. I did not kill her."

"You are still responsible for four murders without Mademoiselle Daae's blood on your hands. You will still be sentenced to execution."

"I am dying, it matters not what kills me."

Thibault sat in his fine clothes on the dirty, cold cell floor across from the Ghost. "Dying?"

"Of a broken heart," rasped Erik. "I was going home to die when I was arrested."

"Home…underneath the Opera House?"

Erik nodded.

The two men sat across from each other, politely examining the other. Some strange feeling of friendliness was between them now…or at least, civility. Erik did not understand why.

"What did I say to Christine?" he inquired. He knew he would not be able to touch her without speaking to her.

"You apologized for letting her die, for her suffering, for causing some of it," Thibault shrugged his broad shoulders. "You kept saying that it would have been better if she'd stayed with you after all. And how the Count was supposed to keep her safe."

"He was," spat Erik suddenly, rising to his feet again. His chains clinked as he began to pace furiously. "I released Christine to Raoul, he was supposed to be better for her than a monster like me, a monster that tied her up and forced her to choose me. Raoul was supposed to make her safe and happy, and now she is dead!"

He slammed his fists against the wall of his cell. Thibault continued to watch him calmly.

"Do you know who might have killed Mademoiselle Daae, Erik?" he asked. "You knew her better than anyone…did she have any enemies?"

"Only La Carlotta," sighed Erik, "That woman does not have the right disposition for murder; she'd faint straightaway at the mention of it."

"You know this for a fact?"

"She fainted when she was told that Joseph Buquet was dead."

"The man you killed?"

"I did not kill him," sighed Erik. He sat again, now closer to Thibault. "He found his way into my torture chamber and hung himself before I found him. I brought him to the cellar to be discovered and let them believe I did it."

"And the late Count de Changy?"

"I could tell you he'd fallen into the lake himself," said Erik softly. "That is what I told the Daroga…but it would be a lie."

"What happened?"

"He was trying to find his brother and took a wrong turn. He tried to cross the lake…I was already half mad…I didn't even look to see who it was."

"You drowned him?"

"I used a little trick with reeds I'd learned. It's quite clever, really."

"The same way you attempted to drown your Persian friend?"

"Yes. Did he tell you how I-"

"Yes," lied Thibault. He'd heard murderers showing off their 'cleverness' in killing before, he didn't care to hear another story. "Do you know why Philippe de Changy would think his brother had gone down below?"

Erik shrugged. "He must have gone to Christine's dressing room and found the mirror open."

"Why would he follow his brother?"

Erik was silent, staring at the chains around his wrists. "I do not know," he answered finally. "I do not know why Philippe would go so far as to chase after his brother instead of waiting for him to return."

"Unless he knew Raoul de Changy would be in danger."

"He would only know that if Raoul had told him about Christine and I, or as much as he'd known at the time."

"Then he would have known that Raoul de Changy intended to marry Christine Daae."

"Yes, of course. That would be the only reason he would know to search Christine's dressing room."

"Is there another way he could have gone down to the lake?"

"The Rue Scribe entrance," said Erik, leaning back against the wall. "That would make more sense, however it would not explain why he attempted to cross the lake."

"If the late Count knew his younger brother was courting a stage girl, he would object."

"Yes," agreed Erik. "He courted La Sorelli himself, but had no intention of marrying her."

"Marrying a stage girl would mean disaster and shame in an aristocratic family," stated Thibault, now standing. Erik watched the Inspector slowly get to his feet. Then his eyes almost seemed to shoot flames.

"The bastard!" screamed Erik, flying to his feet, swiftly moving forward to corner Thibault. "_He is lucky he is already dead_!"

"I assume you have come to the same conclusion I have?"

"He could not dissuade Raoul from marrying Christine, so he had Christine killed!" the Phantom screamed. "I knew I'd seen _that man _ watching her too closely – the mysterious carriage waiting outside the Rue Scribe entrance was a sign – the Persian said the lock on Christine's dressing room had already been broken, he'd thought I had done it."

Erik continued in a language the Inspector did not understand, and now he was pacing again.

Thibault rubbed his hands together to fight the cold. "I'll have some men check for papers hiring an assassin in Philippe de Chagny's desk, though they could easily have been gotten rid of. Do you remember what this man that watched Mademoiselle Daae looked like?"

"I know who it is," spat Erik. "And you must let me go kill him myself!"

"I cannot do that."

"Do not make me kill you, too, Inspector!"

"What would that do?" asked Thibault calmly. "You are still locked in a cell."

"I'll kill them as they take your body from-"

"They know how dangerous you are now," sighed Thibault. "And you are chained. How far do you expect to run in them?"

"I will kill him!"

"No, you will not," Thibault took a few steps towards the raging Ghost. "But he can be arrested if you tell me who it is."

Erik huffed, and kicked the wall several times before he calmed enough to answer.

"The Ratcatcher!" he cried. "He catches the rats below – he is sometimes mistaken for me. His eyes are like mine, his hair like my wigs. He knew my description, he could have worn a mask and clothes like mine-"

"Does he have a name?"

"Lachapelle. Ulrich Lachapelle."

Thibault offered his hand to Erik. Erik stared at it, unsure of what this gesture meant.

"We will have to confirm everything," explained Thibault, "However…you may have helped us solve Mademoiselle Daae's murder."

"I want to see him dead."

"If he is indeed guilty and sentenced to execution…and you are still alive…then I will tell the judge you are the reason that man was caught and explain that is it your last request," Thibault replied, his hand still extended. "…Monsieur Erik, are you going to shake my hand or continue to stare at it?"

"Why do you want to shake hands with me?" asked Erik, genuinely confused.

"It's what you do with a man who has assisted you."

"You want to treat me as though I am human?"

"You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, however…I tried to strangle you."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Thibault's lips. "Twice, if I recall correctly."

"And I marred your face."

"Do you wish for me to treat you as a gentleman or an animal, Erik?"

Erik hesitated, then took Thibault's hand. The handshake was short and weak, but it was the second in Erik's lifetime, and the first time when the other man had been the first to offer.

"Thank you," said Erik, his voice a little weak.

Thibault folded his arms. "For treating you like a man?"

"You may be surprised to know how little I've been treated that way."

Thibault stared at Erik's face. "I think I can imagine."

The Inspector stepped back, and turned to the cell door. He knocked firmly three times, but before the guard could open the door Erik spoke again.

"All I wanted was to be loved for myself…to have a normal life, with a normal house and a normal wife I could take out on Sundays."

"Life can be cruel." It was all the pity Thibault could offer.

"Do not take your life for granted," said Erik, sinking again to his knees. "You have a wife that you love, and that I assume loves you…it must be paradise."

Thibault bit his lip, and then turned to face Erik. Erik was pressing his face against the floor again, and was shaking with silent sobs. Strange that his voice had remained so perfect.

"What is your family name, Erik?" Henri Thibault asked again. "You deserve a normal gravestone like a normal man…simply writing 'X' would not be proper."

"I don't know," cried Erik. "My mother told me that I did not have a given name, and she never told me my last name. I did not belong to her, or so she told me every time I asked."

Thibault swallowed hard, refusing to show pity to a man who had caused so much chaos and death. "What do you want to be written?"

"Christine is who made me human…made me remember that I was a man, not a Ghost or an Angel," he said. "Write Erik. Erik Daae. I do not think she would mind if I borrowed her name in death."

Henri Thibault opened his mouth to object, but then nodded. "I cannot say it's been a pleasure…but I won't forget you, Erik Daae."

Erik raised his yellow eyes to look at the Inspector. "You are a strange man, Monsieur Thibault. But I thank you. Now…go find my Christine's murderer."

* * *

Three days later Erik was found dead in his cell. An obituary for Erik Daae ran in the papers, listing not a murderer but a musical genius and architect. Less than three months later, Ulrich Lachapelle was found guilty of the murder of Christine Daae, and was sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead.

Inspector Henri Thibault was present at both the execution of Lachapelle, and at the burial of Erik Daae, the Phantom of the Opera. When explaining to his wife why he felt the need to be at the burial of a murderer, he explained that Erik was not like other killers. He said that Erik could have been important in society, could have helped the whole world if he had been given a chance. Life had given him more opportunities to kill than to help his fellow man. So Thibault called Erik an 'innocent murderer'.

* * *

A/N: I really like Henri Thibault's character. Now I want to write a multichapter with him in it. Oh dear, haha. Anyway, I hope you all liked it. Please review!


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